


Loose Ends

by WetSammyWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Episode: s12e06 Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8606083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester
Summary: The Winchesters are alive and together as a family in the Bunker, even if only for a few days after returning from Canada. It’s everything that Sam wants, but one phone call shakes him.





	

Sam can hear their laughter in the kitchen, as he sets his cell phone down on the library table. That happy sound is what he should focus on right now, not the bubble of anger that is growing inside him, pressing against his ribs, threatening to burst and destroy the control Sam’s worked hard for these last few weeks.

He moves away from the voices and the comfort they might provide, and shuts the bedroom door behind him. He’ll need to tell Dean and Mary what happened, but not in this moment.

With his back pressed against the door, Sam tries to take calming breaths, but his eyes fall on a stack of files sitting on the desk. He had done some research to confirm what the British Men of Letters said about their methods to control monsters, and to eliminate all of them. Mixed in with the files and notices over the years were a few polite and studious notes from the American MoL implying that while their European counterparts’ methods were extreme, they would maintain a strict policy of neutrality, stating that it was none of their business how Britain handled their own internal problems.

What Sam discovered is that the BMoL’s methods went beyond the hunting of demons and vampires, and the warding of all entry points through the centuries, and turned into the systemic extermination of any and all creatures touched by the supernatural.

Sam keens as he grabs a handful of the folders and files and throws them against the concrete wall. Papers fly all over the room, but it isn’t enough. He throws a lamp across the room and hears the satisfying crack of a light bulb on the floor. The wooden desk chair is next, its thin wooden legs snapping under Sam’s attack. His fury subsides and he drops to the floor at the foot of the bed, legs splayed and head resting on the mattress. He stays like that for a moment, staring at the ceiling as if answers would appear there.

What eats at him is that he should have known something like that would happen. He knew better than anyone what those bastards were capable of, what they thought about people who had been touched, who had powers and abilities, regardless of their intent to use them. 

Shivers wrack his frame at the memory of icy water and scalding blowtorches. Memories he’d set aside to focus on keeping his family together or on hunting, but they were sitting just below his skin, poking around for a weak spot to surface.

To the British Men of Letters, it didn’t matter what you did with your life. Only what label they put on the outside of your file. Psychic. Monster. Target. Mistake. _Mistake._

A pounding on his door clears his thoughts, but not the tears from his eyes. “Sammy, you okay in there?”

Even if the Bunker doors had locks, it wouldn’t keep his brother out. The door opens and two heads appear and two pairs of concerned eyes find him where he sprawls on the floor.

“Sam!” Dean is the first to reach him. His brother’s hands pull Sam’s face up, and then search for any injuries along his arms and chest. Sam laughs, a strangled broken thing, because the wounds caused by his impotency to save himself and others against this oh so very _human_ threat were buried too deep inside for the usual Winchester triage.

“What happened?” Mary kneels by his other side, her touch tentative on his knee. Sam wants to lean into that touch, but he’s afraid to move towards her, that she might take flight and disappear from their lives again.

“Magda.” He swallows down another bubble of the anger that percolates up, and looks at the devastation of the room around him. He needs to channel it towards a more deserving target. His anger and pain can wait. 

“We got work to do.”


End file.
